Never Threaten a Man Whose Eyes Glow
by Feriku
Summary: Oliver Wendell Douglas is all ready to begin planting his crops...but when a certain corporation threatens the farming community, he realizes he'll have to take matters into his own hands.  Accessible to RE fans who haven't seen Green Acres.


Never Threaten a Man Whose Eyes Glow

Oliver Wendell Douglas woke up, looked at the partially completed walls that surrounded the bed, and wondered if the Monroe brothers were ever going to finish the bedroom. He somehow doubted it.

Moving quietly to avoid disturbing his wife, he ran a comb through his graying hair and then walked to the closet. Momentarily forgetting about how the Monroe brothers had built the closet, he slid the door open and sent it flying out of the doorframe to hit the floor with a _crash._

Oliver winced and glanced over at the bed. He could just see Lisa's blonde hair above the blankets; the noise hadn't woken her up. He got out his red robe and slipped it on.

"Those stupid Monroe brothers," he muttered, lifting the door and sliding it back into place.

He shook his head and tiptoed around the bed to get to the door. With any luck, he'd be able to find something to eat—before Lisa woke up and started cooking. He had his hand on the doorknob when a shout rang through the air.

"Oh no! We're doomed! Mr. Douglas?"

"Oliver?" Lisa sat up, and he looked at her. She was beautiful even first thing in the morning, but now she looked confused. "Who is shouting?"

"It sounds like Eb," he said, hurrying out of the bedroom.

Eb came running in from the kitchen. "Mr. Douglas? Mr. Douglas? Zombies!" He ran through the crowded living room, dodging pieces of furniture that had once decorated the Douglases penthouse apartment, and ran right past Oliver and out the door. It slammed shut behind him, but his shouts could still be heard.

"What the—?" Oliver ran to the door and grabbed the doorknob. It came off in his hand. "Oh, for crying out loud…"

"Oliver?" Lisa came up behind him, tying a blue silk robe around her nightgown. "Vat is Eb shouting about?"

"I don't know," he said. He looked at the doorknob in his hand. "And the stupid doorknob came off again!"

He shook his head and reattached the doorknob. He was just about to open the door, when Eb, apparently having made a complete circuit, came back in through the kitchen.

"Mr. Douglas? We're doomed! Zombies! Mr. Douglas?"

"Hold it!" Oliver shouted, grabbing his hired hand before he could leave the house again. "I'm right here; now, what is the matter?"

Eb, tall and lanky, was wearing his usual checkered jacket, but he seemed to have lost his hat somewhere. His dark hair was a wild mess, and his eyes were wide with alarm. "Have you got a shotgun, Mr. Douglas?"

Oliver blinked. "No."

"Well, you better get one, unless you want to become a zombie!"

"Vat is a zombie?" Lisa asked.

"Oh, it's a made-up creature," Oliver said, shaking his head dismissively. "Eb was probably watching some sort of cheap horror movie."

"No sir," Eb said. "We're in real trouble!"

"Is this like ven the little men came down from the flying saucer?" Lisa asked.

"No ma'am! Zombies are much worse. They're dead, but they walk around, and then they spread their virus and make you a zombie, too!"

"Couldn't we get a hypochondriac needle for that?"

Oliver was so used to his wife mangling the language by now that he didn't even comment. Her Hungarian accent rarely made her too hard to understand, but her own inventive uses of words often did.

Eb frowned. "A what?"

"You know, that's ven they schtick you vis a needle, and you don't get sick!"

"Oh, a hypochondriac needle! No, none of the doctors around here are prepared for a zombie virus!"

Oliver, who had been listening with growing annoyance, couldn't take it any longer. "Eb, there are no zombies!"

"Not _yet_, but there will be."

"And why's that?" he growled.

"Gosh, Mr. Douglas, don't you read the paper?"

Oliver rubbed his head. "Lisa, why don't you go get breakfast started, and I'll get this all sorted out."

"But vat about the zombies?" she cried.

"Hey!" Eb said, his eyes lighting up. "Maybe we could use some of your hotcakes as weapons, Mrs. Douglas!"

"Eb, please!" Oliver took a deep breath and tried not to blow up. "Lisa…go do something. Anything."

She sniffed in an insulted way and walked into the kitchen.

"Now, Eb, what are you going on about?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.

"Who could that be this early in the morning?" Oliver wondered out loud. He opened the door to reveal Alf and Ralph Monroe, the carpenters he had found himself stuck with.

Both of the Monroe brothers were dressed in blue shirts, white overalls, and white caps, being similar in every way—except for one very important way, which was that the lighter-haired brother, Ralph, was actually a woman.

"Howdy doody, Mr. Douglas!" Ralph greeted with a smile.

"We need to talk to you," Alf said.

Oliver couldn't help but notice that neither of them was holding tools of any kind. "If you're not here to fix the bedroom, I don't want to talk to you," he said, starting to close the door. He was running out of patience with the Monroe brothers.

"But that's what we're here to talk to you about!"

"Oh?" He pulled the door fully open again.

"Yeah," Ralph said. "We won't be able to work for you for a while, and we were wondering if we could have our paycheck in advance."

"Bye."

"But Mr. Douglas!" Alf cried, as the door started to shut again. "This is important!"

"Now look," he said, glaring at the two. "I hired you to fix the bedroom. That was months ago, and it's still not fixed! The walls are unfinished, the floor is unfinished, the closet door is broken, there's no wall on the other side of the closet—"

"That's exactly why you should give us our paycheck now!" Alf interrupted him. "See, Ralph and I are going to work for someone new—"

"—someone who won't be a sorehead like you," she cut in.

"—and we need some sort of incentive to come back here again."

"What poor devil hired you?" Oliver demanded.

The Monroe brothers glanced at each other.

"To be honest," Alf said, "we aren't sure who they are."

"Some big company has moved into the valley."

"They bought an abandoned warehouse."

"They want us to remodel it."

"Oh no!" Eb shouted, making Oliver jump in surprise. "You mean they're moving in already? We don't have much time left! Mr. Douglas, you won't let them go, will you?"

"I don't care where they go!" he shouted. "But they better go somewhere, because if they aren't going to finish their job, I don't want to see them around here!"

"Does this mean we aren't getting our paycheck?" Alf asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what it means!"

Ralph sniffed and then began to wail.

"Now you made Ralph cry," Alf accused.

"Don't do this, Mr. Douglas!" Eb pleaded.

Oliver stared at him. "What do you care?"

"This is what I was trying to tell you about!"

"Oliver?" Lisa had come back into the living room. "Your hotscakes are ready. Why is Ralph crying?"

"Because your husband's an inconsiderate sorehead," Alf informed her. He put his arm around his sister. "Come on, Ralph, let's go to our new job and leave him here feeling guilty."

Oliver rolled his eyes and shut the door behind the departing carpenters.

"Boy, Mr. Douglas, does the fate of the valley mean that little to you?"

"Eb, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I keep trying to tell you!"

"Oliver," Lisa interrupted, "aren't you going to come have breakfast?"

"Fine. Eb, come with me, and you can tell me what this is all about while we eat. It might take our mind off the food," he added under his breath.

Lisa shot him a glare, and he tried to look innocent.

"All right," Eb said, as the three of them crossed the living room and went into the kitchen. "We'll need all our strength to fight off the zombies."

They sat down at the kitchen table as Lisa returned to the stove. Oliver tried not to look too closely at the hotcakes cooking. He couldn't do anything about hearing them, however; they _blooped_ too loudly for him to ignore.

"All right, Eb. What's the problem?"

"Do you remember when everyone in the valley was going to go to Bleedswell to work in the defense plant?"

"Too well," he groaned.

"Well, a new company's coming into the area, and they're going to be building things far worse than mokker rockets!"

"Who are they?" Oliver asked. "And what are these?" he cried in alarm, as Lisa put a blackened disk on his plate.

"Vell, you don't like my hotscakes, so I changed the recipe."

He tapped his fork against it. He suspected he'd have better luck trying to eat the plate. "How did you change it?"

"I put some coffee in the batter."

"Coffee?" He stared at her as she sat down across from him.

She shrugged. "It's the only other thing I know how to make."

"How can you talk about hotcakes and coffee?" Eb demanded. "We're in a lot of trouble! The Umbrella Corporation is coming!"

If he had expected a reaction, he was going to be disappointed. Oliver stared at him. "The what?"

"Umbrella!" Eb shook his head. "This is about the worst thing that could happen to us. Just look at this." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded copy of the _World Guardian_, Hooterville's local newspaper.

Oliver took it from him, hoping that it would shed light on the situation in ways his hired hand was failing to. He looked at the newspaper…and looked… There was a full-page article about a rump roast contest, several articles about controversies over talking chickens and other things that constituted news in the valley, and finally, squeezed into the corner, was the headline, "Umbrella Pharmaceutical, Inc. Comes to the Hooterville Valley."

"I can see this is really shaking up the town," he muttered, dropping the paper on the table.

"They're trying to keep it on the C.T.," Eb said with a serious nod.

"Eb, that's keeping it on the _Q.T._," Oliver said, once he had worked that one out.

"Well, whatever it is, they're doing it!"

Lisa had picked up the newspaper and was frowning at it. "Vat is a pharmacintical?"

"Pharmaceutical," he corrected, feeling a headache coming on. "Like a pharmacy…it means they deal with medicine."

"Oh! So then vill Umbrella give us hypochondriac needles for ven the zombies come?"

"There are no zombies!"

"There will be when Umbrella gets here," Eb said grimly. "The pharmacintical stuff is just a front! They're really into bioweapons."

"It's _pharmaceutical_!" Oliver shouted. "And that doesn't make any sense! Why would a company…" He looked at the article again and couldn't hold back an exasperated sigh. "Why would a mega-corporation waste their efforts on something like bioweapons? And for crying out loud, there is no such thing as a zombie!"

"Then why are they coming in on the C.T.?" Lisa asked.

He couldn't even bear to approach that one.

"They're going to hide out here in the valley," Eb said, lowering his voice. "Their enemies are searching for them, but who would look here in Hooterville? Soon they'll be offering employment to all the people here. They've already got the Monroe brothers working for them!"

"Even an evil organization doesn't deserve that," Oliver muttered. "Come on, Eb, we have to get to work on the farm."

"And maybe some people really will get jobs," he continued, ignoring him, "but you know what I think? I think most of them will end up being their latest experiments!"

"That's terrible!" Lisa cried. "Oliver, you have to do something!"

"Me? Oh… You don't really believe this horror story nonsense, do you?" He stood up. "I am a farmer, and I intend to farm, no matter who's coming into the valley!"

"But Mr. Douglas!"

Any further conversation was cut off by a horn honking outside. To Oliver's dismay, it had the distinctive squawk of the horn on Mr. Haney's truck. If there was one thing he couldn't take that morning, it was dealing with the slippery con man.

Sure enough, Haney's voice soon shouted, "Mr. Douglas!"

"What does he want?" Oliver grumbled, leaving the others in the kitchen as he made his way to the front door.

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you in time," Mr. Haney said when he opened the door, straightening his tie and smiling.

"In time for what?" Oliver demanded, already out of patience.

"Well, seein' as how you was in the military, I figured you might be a prim_ary_ target." He waved a hand at the truck he had parked in front of the ramshackle house. "Just step right this way and pick out the supplies you want."

"_Supplies?_" Warily, Oliver followed Mr. Haney around to the back of the truck. He stopped partway, noticing that the side of Haney's truck featured a green sign that read _Official Supplier of the B.S.A.A._ "What does that mean?"

"It's the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance," he explained. He pulled up the tarp on the back of the truck, revealing an assortment of weapons and equipment that looked like he had made them himself, as well as boxes of green herbs that looked equally dubious."

"What in the world…?"

"Now, Mr. Douglas, if you'll look here…" Haney picked up a bow and arrow from the pile. "This is the tops in today's long-range weapons. Now, if you're figurin' on a lot of close-range stuff, you'll want to look at this." He picked up a short knife. "Ain't that a beauty? It operates on the principle of _sharp._"

Convinced that the world was going mad around him, Oliver waved his arms and shouted, "Stop! Mr. Haney, I don't want any weapons!"

He looked shocked. "But every member of the B.S.A.A. is going to be fighting!"

"I'm not a member of the B.S.A.A.!"

"You mean you _aren't_ a member yet?" Haney pulled a notebook out from inside his vest, along with a pencil, and flipped through the pages. "Let's see…if you sign up now, I can throw in an official member's certifi_cate_ for only $25!"

"I don't want to join your stupid organization! Will you stop wasting my time?"

"Mr. Douglas…" Haney took off his hat and held it over his heart. "I am sin_cere_ly sorry for havin' wasted your time. If I'd have known, I wouldn't have even brought the B.S.A.A. up."

"Well, thank you," he said, a little confused. Haney never gave up that easily.

"I want you to know, I support you all the way." He walked to the side of his truck and pulled down a new sign to cover the old one. This one read _Official Supplier of Umbrella Pharmaceutical, Inc._ "Now then…" He retrieved the bow and arrow. "This is the tops in—"

"Out!" Oliver yelled.

"I can give you these herbs for only—"

"OUT!"

Haney jumped back slightly, and put the items back on the truck with a slightly abashed look. As he got into the driver's seat, he called, "For only $5, I can put in a good word for you with the higher-ups in the corporation!"

"I don't care about the corporation!" Oliver ran his hands through his hair. "Has everyone suddenly gone crazy?"

"You mean you ain't with _either_ side?"

"No, I'm not with either side! I don't even know what's going on!"

To his vast irritation, Haney got back out of the truck. "Today is your lucky day!"

"I highly doubt it."

"You've heard of the great Harvey Quintrap?"

"No…"

Haney snapped his fingers and shook his head. "Gosh, I guess old Harvey's done it again."

"Done _what_ again?"

"He goes around in secret, researching all sorts of organizations and writin' books on them!" He pulled a book out from within his vest, holding it up for Oliver to see. The cover contained only a red and white logo, along with the title _The Umbrella Corporation, as Told by Harvey Quintrap._ "I can let you have it for just $5.95!"

"No thank you…"

He smiled impudently. "For an additional ten cents, I can throw in _The Order of Silent Hill, as Told by Harvey Quintrap_, in case they come around one of these days."

"Bye."

Oliver turned and went back into the house without waiting to see if Haney was actually leaving. Once inside, he changed into his suit. He pulled on the jacket and straightened his tie. It was almost planting season, and he intended to spend the day getting his fields plowed, no matter what company was moving into Hooterville. Unfortunately, that meant he'd have to deal with the Hoyt-Clagwell, the rundown, broken tractor that Mr. Haney had sold him.

He called to Lisa that he was going to be in the fields, and then he went outside. He got the clanking tractor out of the barn, noting with some annoyance that Eb hadn't milked Eleanor. If he didn't show up soon, he'd have to go find him. Eb was _also_ going to keep working.

"And that goes for you, too," he said to the tractor, stepping towards it.

The tractor shuddered, and one of its red wheels fell to the ground.

Oliver jumped back in alarm. He hadn't even turned it on yet. He waited for a moment, and then cautiously approached the tractor again. Another wheel fell off.

"Oh, for crying out loud…"

"Morning, Mr. Douglas."

He turned around when he heard Mr. Ziffel's voice, surprised at how downtrodden he sounded. The old farmer was walking towards him with a somber look on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Ziffel. Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no. I just wanted to ask you something, you being a lawyer and all."

"Oh?" Oliver blinked in surprise. It wasn't often that the people of Hooterville needed legal advice, and when they did, it usually led to trouble.

Mr. Ziffel sighed. "Do you know where I can find a good realtor? Haney came by offering his services, but I wouldn't trust him."

"Well, let me see now, a…a realtor? You're not moving, are you?" He was shocked. The Ziffels had been good friends and neighbors, and he had never expected them to leave. Well, there had been a few times when it was a possibility, such as the Bleedswell incident, but he couldn't imagine what it was this time.

"Yep. Me and Doris talked it over, and we think it would be best."

"But why? I mean, what about your farm?"

"Oh, we don't want to go." He put his thumbs through his suspenders and looked down. "We're just afraid that things might get too dangerous for Arnold, now that Umbrella's coming in."

Oliver took a deep breath, not sure how to respond to that. Arnold was the Ziffels' pig, but they treated him like he was their son. He still found it odd to see people talking to a pig like it could understand.

Mr. Ziffel held up a hand. "Don't bother trying to change my mind, now. It's all decided. Arnold's taking it kinda hard; he doesn't want to go to a different school."

"Uh-huh. Look, Mr. Ziffel…" He tried not to laugh. "Why would a pharmaceutical company be interested in Arnold?"

"Umbrella gets into some mighty strange stuff."

"If anything happens, I'd be glad to take it to court for you."

"Hmm. Well, I'll go tell Doris, see what she thinks." He started to walk away, but then he turned back. "Oh, Mr. Douglas—will you be flying an aeroplane for the B.S.A.A. like you did in the war?"

"No! I'm going to take care of my farm! And you should, too!"

"Yeah, it might be safer that way. Thanks for the advice, Mr. Douglas."

"Err, no problem," Oliver said, as the other farmer walked away. He shook his head and looked back at the Hoyt-Clagwell. He had a feeling that if he walked towards it again, the rest of the wheels would fall off.

Eleanor mooed loudly from the barn, still not having been milked.

"Eb!" Oliver looked around and realized that his farm hand was nowhere in sight. "One little thing happens, and everyone loses their heads…" He walked back to the house and entered the kitchen through the back door. "Eb, we have to get to work."

Eb and Lisa were still seated at the kitchen table, and he was slowly reading out loud from a book. "But the good captain was not a loyal member of S.T.A.R.S. after all. That was probably why he was pointing his gun at them."

"Oh boy," Oliver muttered. He took a closer look and saw that it was indeed _The Umbrella Corporation, as Told by Harvey Quintrap._ "You didn't buy…" He stopped. He didn't actually want to know if one of them had paid Haney for Harvey Quintrap's debacle. "Eb, aren't you going to work today?"

"I can't!" He closed the book and jumped up from the table, nearing hitting his head on the ceiling. "I gotta take the radio and see if I can get in contact with the B.S.A.A."

"But this is a farm!" Oliver shouted, throwing his hands up in dismay as Eb ran out of the house.

"Dahling, isn't there something else you could do while Eb uses the radio?"

He sighed. "I supposed I could go into Drucker's Store and buy some seed…"

"Then why don't you?" Lisa smiled. "Then you von't be upset because of Eb."

Oliver smiled. "You know, I think I will." He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, and then he left for Drucker's.

xXx

When he reached the small store, Arnold Ziffel oinked a greeting from his chair in the corner. Oliver half-turned to say hello to him, and then shook his head. Mr. Ziffel and Newt Kiley were sitting in the middle of the store, playing checkers, Mr. Kimball was looking at cans on the shelf as though thoroughly mystified by them, and Mr. Drucker was waiting patiently behind the counter.

"Hello, Mr. Douglas," the bald store manager said. "I suppose you've come to return your seed? Wait, you didn't even order any yet. Why are you here?"

Oliver blinked in surprise. "I'm here _to_ order seed!"

Everyone in the store turned to stare at him, including Arnold, who squealed in shock.

"You mean you're still going to plant crops?" Mr. Drucker asked.

"Of course!" He looked around. "Why, is there a problem with that?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it's a problem," Mr. Kimball answered. Oliver suppressed a groan as the permanently-confused county agent walked over to him. He had his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket, and he had that vague smile on his face that meant he was going to try to explain something. "It's more of a…well, no, it's not that. I guess it _is_ a problem. You see, yesterday I got a letter—no, it wasn't yesterday. It was Tuesday. Or was it Saturday? No, my sister got a letter on Saturday. Or was it Tuesday? No, it must have been yesterday—I don't have a sister! Anyway, does that answer your question?"

Oliver stared at him. "No."

"Let me handle this, Hank," Mr. Drucker cut in, as Mr. Kimball opened his mouth to try again. "Here's your letter, Mr. Douglas."

Oliver took the letter and frowned at the envelope. From the looks of the return address, it had been sent by someone from that stupid company. He opened it up and read the letter. It was not nearly alarming enough to warrant all of this panic.

"So they're offering me employment," he said, folding the letter back up. He remembered Eb's wild claims and wondered if the reactions of the farmers were related. "If I wanted a job with a big corporation, I'd have stayed in the city. Now, may I please order my seed?"

"That's the problem," Mr. Kimball said, snapping his fingers.

"What is?"

"The letter! See, you said 'offer,' but a better word might be… Well, it's not a _better_ word…not that it's a bad word… I mean, as words go…then again, it's not quite a good one, either… Well, no matter what kind of word it is, we might say 'demand.' And that's why you buying seed is a problem, Mr. Douglas."

"Yeah," said Newt, looking over anxiously. "We kinda figured we should do what they wanted."

Oliver stared around at them in amazement. "Gentlemen, a pharmaceutical company can't _draft_ people!"

"I don't know," Mr. Drucker disagreed. "They've run into some hard times, and from what I understand, they're crazier than ever."

"Yeah," Mr. Kimball said. "I was over at the Shady Rest the other day, and I met some of them. Well, I didn't exactly meet them… I sorta… Well, we were all _at_ the Shady Rest… Or was it Pixley? No, I'm sure it was the Shady Rest, because Kate was there. Or did I see her at the supermarket? No, I always do my shopping on Thursdays." He laughed. "I remember this one time when I went to buy bread—or was it eggs?"

"Get on with it, Hank!" Mr. Drucker said, rolling his eyes.

He blinked. "On with what?"

"The story!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt someone?"

"No, it was your story! About the Shady Rest, and Umbrella!"

"Oh!" Mr. Kimball winced. "Yeah, I was at the hotel. Well, actually I was outside of it. You might describe what I was doing as 'hiding.' Anyway, have you seen that one that wears the sunglasses? He seems like trouble. Well, not _trouble_…more like a disaster. You know his eyes are red? Or are they yellow? No, I know I knew someone with red eyes. Actually, they _are_ yellow; the one with the red eyes was an old girlfriend of mine."

Oliver, who had been staring patiently at the ceiling throughout the entire story, gave him a sharp look.

Newt, looking utterly lost, asked, "Your old girlfriend was a member of Umbrella?"

"She was?" Mr. Kimball stared at him. "Gee, no wonder that relationship didn't work out."

"Are they all like that?" Mr. Drucker asked.

"No, some of my girlfriends were perfectly normal. Well, not _normal_…"

"I meant the Umbrella employees you saw!"

The county agent blinked. "Huh? No, none of them were my girlfriend. Gosh, at least I hope not."

Oliver waved his hands frantically to stop the conversation before it got even more out of hand than it was already. "You don't seriously mean you're all going to let this stupid company push you around?"

Mr. Ziffel spoke up at last. "No. Me and Arnold decided we're going to fight!"

"Fight?" he repeated weakly.

"Yes, and we're mighty glad to have your support, Mr. Douglas."

Oliver stared at him for a moment, and then looked back at Mr. Drucker. "Can I please just order my seed?"

xXx

"I just couldn't believe it," Oliver was saying, as he paced back and forth in the living room. "Mr. Drucker made it sound like I'm the only farmer planting my crops this year! Mr. Kimball had some wild story about people with yellow eyes, Newt Kiley thinks Umbrella can draft people, and Mr. Ziffel is trying to start some sort of rebel force!"

"And this all has to do vis the pharmacintical company?" Lisa asked.

"Pharmaceutical. Yes, and it's ridiculous! Why is it that when ever something new happens around here, everyone goes nuts?"

"Dahling, relax!" She grabbed his arm and forced him to sit on the couch. "At least you can still farm."

"Yeah…" He frowned unhappily. "It's just so terrible to see people abandon their farms for no reason."

"Are you sure it is no reason? I vas reading that book that Eb gave me, and—"

"Oh, not that Harvey Quintrap thing. Haney probably wrote that himself to make some easy money. There's really nothing to worry about."

"Vell, if there's nothing to vorry about, then von't this just be a passing phase?"

He blinked. "Maybe…"

"At least the Ziffels vill return."

"That's true…"

"And Alf and Ralph von't be working there forever."

He rolled his eyes. "Did you have to remind me of that?"

"Oliver!"

"I'm joking," he said, even though he wasn't entirely. "You know, I think you're right. In a few days—maybe a week—they'll all return to their farms, and everything will be back to normal."

xXx

Oliver stared glumly at the inedible hotcake on the plate in front of him. "I don't understand it, Lisa. It's been over a week now. Every time I drive into town, all I see are abandoned farms. The only place there's any activity is at that stupid building Umbrella's using as its headquarters. I thought everyone would be back by now."

"Maybe they like their new jobs."

"Yeah, maybe." He tapped his fork against the hotcake. It sounded like a brick. "I haven't even seen anyone to ask."

"You haven't been farming, either," she pointed out.

"How can I?" he asked. "The tractor's broken, there's no one I can ask for help with plowing, and I've barely seen Eb at all! This stuff has gone to his head. All these acres, abandoned…" He shook his head.

She leaned close to him. "Does this mean you vant to go back to New York?"

"No!"

"But if you aren't going to farm, then why stay?"

"I am going to farm." He hit his hand against the table. "You're right, Lisa. No matter what they do, I'm still an American farmer. The American farmer is the backbone of this country! When the first settlers came and started to farm, did they have all this equipment and help? No. And did they give up? No, they didn't. They planted the little seed in the rich brown earth, and when it sprouted, they knew they had accomplished something! They would plant their crops alone if they had to, and so will I!" He stood up, very proud of being a farmer and determined to take care of his fields. "Now, I'm going to prepare my fields!"

"Aren't you going to eat your hotscakes?" Lisa cried, standing up and looking with dismay at the untouched disk on his plate.

He glanced at it. "I would…but I don't think this valley can afford to lose another farmer."

"Oliver!" She folded her arms and turned away from him.

"I'm only joking," he said, putting his arms around her.

She turned to face him. "Then you'll eat it?"

"No, I have to get started!" he said hastily, hurrying outside before she could say anything else.

Outside, he straightened his suit jacket and gave the Hoyt-Clagwell a final despairing look before getting the plow. Pushing the plow wasn't something he was looking forward to, but at the moment, he couldn't think of a better way.

Just as he had reached the fields, however, a car drove up. From the distance he was at, he couldn't make out the person's face, but the jacket was enough for him to recognize Mr. Kimball. Oliver threw up his hands and left the plow. He couldn't help but wonder if he was ever going to be given enough time to get started on his farming.

Mr. Kimball got out of his car and walked towards him. "Good morning, Mr…uh…Mr…"

"Mr. Kimball, do you—" Oliver began, but he was cut off by the county agent snapping his fingers.

"Mr. Kimball! Yes, good morning, Mr. Kimball."

"No, _you're_ Mr. Kimball…"

"I am?" He frowned. "That would explain why we have the same last name. Anyway, do you know where I can find a Mr. Douglas?"

"That's me," Oliver replied through gritted teeth.

"Then why did you say your name was Kimball?"

He shook his head. "Look, never mind. What is it you wanted to see me about?"

"I've got a message for you from Sam Drucker."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid it's bad news. Well, it's not bad news. In fact, you might say it's good news! Well, _you_ might not think it's good news, but when you step back and take a look at it…" He took a step back and squinted. "What are we looking at again?"

"I'm sure I don't know!"

"Oh. Well, if you find out, call me. So long, Mr. Douglas!" He started to head back to his car.

"Wait!" Oliver called. "What about the message?"

He turned back. "Oh, do you have a message for me?"

"No, you have a message for me…"

"I do? What is it?"

"How should I know?" Oliver demanded, struggling to be patient.

"Well, if I came here to tell it to you, I'm sure it was important," Mr. Kimball said. He frowned. "Let's see. I woke up this morning at 6:00…or was it 6:30? No, it was probably 5:30; I remember because—"

"Mr. Kimball! You said you had a message for me from Mr. Drucker!"

"Oh, that! Yes, Sam sent me here to tell you that your seed won't be coming in. So long, Mr. Douglas!" He once again headed for his car.

"Wait!" Oliver ran after him. "What do you mean my seed isn't coming in?" At his puzzled look, he hastily amended, "I mean, _why_ isn't it coming in?"

"Oh!" Mr. Kimball laughed. "Well, it's very simple, really. No…" He frowned. "I guess it's not so simple. See, the Umbrella Corporation has been doing a lot of construction and renovation—well, _they_ haven't been doing it; they've been having other people do it for them…although if they've been hired, then maybe they technically _are_ Umbrella now."

"It doesn't matter. Just tell me why my seed isn't coming in!"

"That's just it! This construction has expanded that building to the point where it's over the railroad tracks. The Hooterville Cannonball can't get into Drucker's Store to deliver your seed."

"That's impossible!" He knew where the building was; he had seen it just a couple of days ago. They had been working on construction, but they weren't close enough to the railroad tracks that they could make that sort of progress in two days.

"Some of it may have to do with the underground facility they've been working on."

"_Underground?_"

"Yes." Mr. Kimball glanced around nervously. "Uh, if you guys have any bugs around here, I really don't know anything about that place! Forget I mentioned it, Mr. Douglas."

"Now wait a minute," he said, before he could get away. "How am I supposed to get my seed?"

"Well, I guess you'll just have to drive into Pixley."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "You mean that every farmer in the valley is now going to have to pick up his own seed?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'd say that…"

"Oh?"

"You're the only one left still trying to farm!" He looked around at the dry, unplowed, weed-filled fields. "Why _are_ you still trying to farm?"

"Because I'm a farmer," Oliver said, drawing himself up proudly. A thought occurred to him, and he frowned. "What's going to happen to the train?"

"It looks like the Cannonball is going to be shut down at last."

"They can't do that! The Hooterville Cannonball is a part of this town's history! What's going to happen to the Shady Rest if they no longer have the train? They'll have to close! How will new people get into Hooterville? They won't!" The more Oliver thought about it, the angrier he got. "We were here first, and we aren't going to give everything up just because some stupid pharamacintic—err, pharmaceutical company decided to build over our railroad!"

Mr. Kimball was just staring at him.

"Did the American farmer get to be where he was today by surrendering when things looked tough? No! He spoke up for his rights, going up against the highest of authorities when necessary! And if it came to it, he stood and fought! The Hooterville Cannonball doesn't need to be shut down! They can build a tunnel for it, and if they don't want a train going over their heads, then they shouldn't be building underneath the tracks, either! As soon as someone tells them that, I'm sure this whole thing will be resolved."

"Like who?"

He blinked. "Like…you, Mr. Kimball."

"_Me?_"

"Yes. You're our county agent, after all!"

Mr. Kimball laughed nervously and edged towards his car. "Good-bye, Mr. Douglas!" He bolted, getting into the driver's seat and driving away before another word could be said.

Oliver stared after him, annoyed and full of righteous anger. He should have known better than to expect Kimball to be any help. Well, if no one else would stand up for the rights of the valley, it was going to have to be Oliver Wendell Douglas.

He marched through his fields, back to the broken-down farmhouse, and went inside. "Lisa?" he called, as he searched drawers until he found a pad of paper and a pen. He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, shoving Harvey Quintrap's book out of the way.

"Vat is it, dahling?" Lisa asked, coming in with a bowl of eggs. "Oh, are you done plowing already? Would you like an egg? I can ask Alice to make more."

This time, he didn't even bother telling her that you couldn't get a chicken to lay eggs by asking it. "Do you know what the Umbrella Corporation's done? They've built stuff over—or maybe under—the railroad tracks, and now the Cannonball is going to be shut down! At this rate, they're going to destroy Hooterville!"

"Why vould they do that?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"They probably don't understand. And no one around here has the guts to tell them!"

"Vat are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to send them a letter explaining the problem and offering them a solution. I'm sure they're reasonable people."

_To Whom It May Concern_, he began.

"Oh, does Mr. Concern work for Umbrella, now?"

And, with Lisa asking questions every step of the way, Oliver politely outlined the situation in a letter and sent it off to Umbrella Pharmaceutical, Inc.

xXx

Three letters later, Oliver returned from Drucker's Store with a third response telling him that Umbrella didn't care what he thought, and he slammed it down on the kitchen table.

"There has to be something illegal about this!" he snapped, pacing back and forth as Lisa tried ineffectually to calm him down. "They can't just do whatever they want! And why do they keep denying the existence of that underground facility? What are they doing down there?"

"Dahling, relax!"

"How can I relax? They're probably going to pollute the land and destroy this beautiful countryside! It'll be like being back in the city again; they've already pulled everyone away from their farms! Back with the rat race, and the smog, and all the stuff I left New York to get away from—that is if they don't turn Hooterville into a ghost town, first!"

"Do you want to read vat Harvey Quintrap says?"

"No!" He finally stopped pacing. "That horror story stuff is all nonsense. Sure, they're probably corrupt, but I'm not going to become like the Ziffels and whoever else is hiding out as a resistance movement. I'm an attorney, and I'm going to handle this in a calm, reasonable way."

Lisa held out the notepad and pen.

"When did you get those out?" he asked in surprise.

"This morning, ven you left to get your response. You're going to write another letter?"

"You're darn right I am! And those idiots had better understand that I'm not just going to give up!"

Oliver sat down at the table and began to write his newest letter. _Dear Chowderheads…_

When he was finished, he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket. He was taking no chances with the mail, this time. "Lisa, I'll be back. I'm going to deliver this personally."

"Good luck!" she called after him, as he left the house and got into their convertible.

The drive into town was uneventful, but the sight of all of the abandoned farms irked him even more than usual. This wasn't the Hooterville he knew. He could see no visible damage to the land or water, but he was sure it would come. Once, he thought he saw Mr. Ziffel and Arnold sneaking through a field, but when he turned his head to get a better look, they were gone.

That was another thing he had put in his letter. His list of complaints had gotten rather extensive as he wrote: they had built over the railroad, they were forcing the Cannonball to shut down, the Shady Rest would go out of business, they were isolating Hooterville even more than it already was, they were ignoring his proposed solutions, they didn't care about his letters, they had caused people to abandon their farms, they hadn't put in enough of an effort to calm the wild rumors, they didn't have good relations with the county agent, people were afraid to work for them, people were afraid to not work for them, they probably didn't have a building permit, they probably didn't have an underground building permit, they kept lying about whether or not they were building underground, they were probably going to cause pollution, and finally, they seemed to think that everyone in the valley was just going to bow down to their wishes—and after an inspired paragraph about how the American farmer would do no such thing, Oliver had ended the letter by explaining his legal background and his intention to call the police, the court, the government, and anyone else who would listen, down on them, if Umbrella didn't change what they were doing or leave the valley.

All in all, he thought he had been quite polite, considering what was going on.

He parked in front of the once-abandoned building and saw that the construction had proceeded at an alarming rate. Not only did Umbrella's headquarters reach the railroad tracks, but more additions were going up on the other side, as well. What made it even more aggravating was that there, in the middle of the construction, hammering boards together without a care in the world, were the Monroe brothers.

"Oh, so you're hard at work," he commented, getting out of the car and walking over to them. "You never made this much progress when you were working for me!"

"Oh great, it's him," Alf said, rolling his eyes.

Ralph elbowed him. "Would you rather it be Dr. Sorehead?"

Oliver felt slightly better at that; at least he wasn't the only person who yelled at them enough to get the nickname of sorehead.

"So he came back at last. See, Ralph, I told you he'd feel guilty about not paying us."

"I don't feel guilty," he assured them.

Ralph dropped her hammer. "Then why are you here?"

Since she had dropped it on his foot, Oliver's only response was to yell while holding his foot and hopping around.

"What's wrong?" Alf asked.

"You dropped that hammer right on my foot!"

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Ralph offered.

"No!"

"I guess he doesn't want to talk to us," Alf said. "Come on, let's get back to work."

They resumed cutting boards and hammering them in place. From what Oliver could see, their skill hadn't gone up by very much since their work on the bedroom.

"What is that?" he asked, as Ralph held up a piece of wood that had been cut to the point where it resembled some sort of misshapen cat.

"It's a key, of course," she replied.

"A key?"

"Read me the next line, Alf!"

Alf turned to a book that they had sitting on top of a pile of boards. "But the medallion didn't work."

Ralph threw the piece she was holding onto the scrap pile. It looked like it was filled with such things. "Okay, what's next?"

"Wait a minute," Oliver said, walking over to Alf. "What in the world are you doing?"

"Well," Alf explained, "we sort of lost the blueprints that they gave us."

"You mean _you_ lost them," his sister accused.

"I did not!"

"Did too."

"Okay," Oliver said, "so you lost the blueprints. Then what?"

"Well, without the blueprints, we didn't know what to do with this addition. We had to either find those blueprints, or find different ones. Fortunately, we saw Mr. Haney, and he sold us this." He held up the book, which featured a large building and the title _The Spencer Mansion, as Told by Harvey Quintrap._

"Oh boy."

"It's a bit hard to follow," Ralph admitted, "but at least we can keep working."

"Look, why didn't you just ask for new blueprints?"

Alf raised his eyebrows. "And make Dr. Sorehead mad at us again? Are you crazy?"

"No, but sometimes I wish I was," Oliver muttered. "So have you been following that book for the underground section, too?"

They exchanged glances, and then Alf said, "Mr. Douglas, officially, there is no underground section."

"Well, maybe you could unofficially tell me," he suggested.

"How do you like that?" Ralph asked. "He drops by and tries to get us in trouble."

Oliver threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not trying to… Fine. There is no underground section. Maybe you can just tell me about the corporation itself, then. Do you like working here? Are the other farmers happy?"

"Are you a spy?" Alf asked.

"Am I a _what_?"

"Mr. Ziffel is becoming a real problem, and Hank Kimball keeps sneaking around here, too. It's starting to cause a stir."

"That's why I like working here," Ralph said.

"Because Mr. Kimball comes around spying?" he guessed, rolling his eyes as he thought about Ralph's unrequited crush on the county agent.

"It's worse than that," Alf said. "While we're on duty, we're also the border security."

"If I see Hankie again, I'm supposed to capture him," Ralph said with a dreamy stare.

Oliver stared at them both for a while, wondering why anyone would spy on a pharmaceutical company, and why carpenters would be under orders to capture spies. Then again, it made as much sense as anything else that happened in Hooterville, so he finally just shook his head.

"Well…happy building," he said, giving up and walking away. That hadn't been very helpful, but he had come here to deliver his letter, anyway.

The front door was unlocked, so he opened it and stepped inside. There, he found himself in a tiny lobby. There was only one light, but he could see that a gate barred his way. To the right of the gate was a shuttered window, with a small speaker next to it. A button indicated that you should press it and talk into the speaker.

He sighed and held down the button. "Uh, excuse me? I was wondering if I could talk to someone in charge. I've got a letter here, and it's vital that it be delivered right away. So, do you think you could open the gate or something?" He released the button and waited.

"Do you have a _se_curity badge?" an unfortunately familiar voice asked from the speaker, as the shutters rose and opened the window.

"Mr. Haney!" Oliver cried in surprised dismay. "What are you doing here?"

Haney grinned. "Oh, just doing an honest day's work, like everybody else."

"From you, I highly doubt that."

"Oh, Mr. Douglas, you know how to hurt a man."

He rolled his eyes. "All right, how much?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How much do I have to pay you for you to open that gate?"

Haney took off his hat and adopted a wounded expression. "Mr. Douglas, they have hired me to guard this facility and see that no trespassers get through. Do you really think I would betray that trust by accepting _bribery_ to open the gate?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, you're wrong. No non-employees get past me, not even you."

"What about visitors? Some people must be allowed in!"

"Do you have a visitor's badge?"

"No," he sighed, seeing where this was going.

Haney reached behind him and pulled out a box filled with yellow, felt badges. "You can have a visitor's badge for only $2."

Oliver opened his mouth to argue and then thought about his mission. Saving the valley was worth two dollars. "Fine," he said, paying the money and taking his badge. "Now, the gate?"

Haney pressed a button, and the gate began to open. "Oh, one thing before you go—the visitor's badge will give you access to the cafeteria, main lounge, and gift shop. That's, uh, here."

"A gift shop?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, care to buy a pen? They're only fifty cents." Haney held up a pen decorated in red and white, with the Umbrella logo on the side.

"No thank you…"

"How about a pair of souvenir sunglasses?"

"Why—" Oliver shook his head and decided it was better not to ask. "No, Mr. Haney, I—"

"A lab coat, certified to have belonged to William Birkin?"

"No! I don't want to buy anything!"

Haney set down everything and sighed. "You sure are making this difficult."

"What happens if I go into an area I'm not authorized to be in?"

"I wouldn't try it, if I were you, Mr. Douglas. One gentleman did that just the other day, and we haven't seen him since." He momentarily rested his hat over his heart and looked up solemnly.

"That's ridiculous!" Oliver shouted. "For the love of… How do I get enough authorization to get me to someone in charge?"

"Well, you could become an official employee. I can give you some tips on getting hired…for a small fee, of course."

"I don't have that much time!" He sighed and got out the letter. "Mr. Haney, this is very important. Hooterville is falling apart. I've been sending letters, but I don't think they're taking me seriously. Now, I need to deliver this as soon as possible."

Haney reached past his piles of souvenirs and returned with a small plaque, which he sat in front of him. It read _Haney's Mail Delivery Service._

"Oh boy."

"Now then, Mr. Douglas, I can deliver this for you as soon as you tell me who you want it delivered to."

"It doesn't really matter," he said with shrug. "Someone with enough power to do something…the person with the highest authority you can find."

"Consider it done!"

"How much?"

"Mr. Douglas, do you really think I'd make you pay money at a time like this? It's free of charge."

"Oh, well, thank you," Oliver said, feeling a bit ashamed for having assumed Haney would charge him.

"You should expect a reply within four months."

"Four months?"

Haney blinked. "Oh, did you want the express delivery?"

Oliver gritted his teeth and looked up. "Yes, I did."

"In that case, I can deliver it tonight…of course, there will be a $5 fee for the express service…"

Reminding himself that he was doing this for the community, Oliver managed not to explode. Instead, he paid Haney the money and handed him the letter.

"Consider your message delivered!"

"Good." Oliver nodded to him, and then turned and left the building.

xXx

The next morning, Oliver was sitting at the table, listening to the unfortunate sounds of the hotcakes cooking, when Eb trudged in.

"Well," Oliver commented, "I see you've finally come back to do some work."

The boy sat down without a word, and Lisa turned around.

"Eb? Vat is the matter?"

He sat his small, black radio on the table. "This. I think it must be broken or something."

"What's wrong with it?" Oliver asked, as Lisa went back to the stove to pile hotcakes onto a plate. There was a _crack_ as one of the plates broke, and he found himself trying to think of an excuse not to eat breakfast this morning.

"I've been trying to reach help for a week now, and no one's responded!"

Oliver hid a smile. "Eb…that's a one-way radio."

"Huh?"

"It's just a receiver; there's no transmitter." When he only got a blank stare in response, he tried again, "You can't contact anyone through that."

"I can't?" Eb looked depressed, and even more so when Lisa put a plate of black, inedible hotcakes in front of him. "Gosh, Mr. Douglas, do you know where I could get a transmitter?"

He shrugged. "I suppose you could ask Mr. Drucker…"

"Would you take me there?"

"Sure," he said. He didn't have anything better to do, since he still hadn't gotten his seed. In fact, his only plans for the day had been to see if he could get the tractor back together, and wait for a response to his letter. He'd have to go in to Drucker's Store to get the mail anyway. "When do you want to go?"

"The sooner the better!" Eb cried, his eyes widening. "Who knows what Umbrella's up to?"

"Yeah." He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Eb, don't you think you're taking this a little too far?"

Lisa came over with a pot of coffee and began pouring it into Oliver's cup. Today it was a dark, viscous fluid that didn't look like it should be drunk. "Vell, you're one to talk, after all the letters you've been writing."

"You've been fighting Umbrella, Mr. Douglas?"

"No!" He rubbed his head. "I just don't like some of the things they're doing, and I sent them a letter explaining my feelings. That's all."

Eb nodded seriously. "Did you mention bioweapons and zombie viruses in your letter?"

"No! Will you stop it with that horror story nonsense?"

"You don't know that much about Umbrella, do you?"

"I'm sure they're a bunch of normal, reasonable people with a bit too much power," he said. "These tales being spread by people like you and Mr. Kimball really aren't helping the situation."

"Aren't you going to eat your hotscakes?" Lisa interrupted.

Oliver looked at her and then down at the things on his plate. "Err…you know, Eb, we better get into Drucker's Store to see about that transmitter!"

Eb looked at his own plate and gulped. "Yes, sir!"

"Oliver!" Lisa pouted, as he quickly kissed her and headed for the door. "Vat am I going to do vis all these hotscakes?"

"Why don't you use them to fight the zombies?" he suggested, rolling his eyes.

"If you vould listen to vat Eb has been saying about that pharmacintical company, you vouldn't be so calm!"

"It's pharmaceutical, and Eb's nuts." He frowned. "What are you worried about, anyway?"

"Vat if Umbrella comes after you?"

"Oh, I'll be fine," he assured her. "This shouldn't take too long, and we'll be back before you know it."

On one hand, he was glad to say good-bye to Lisa, and leave her worries and cooking behind for a while. On the other hand, the drive into town seemed quite long when you had to share the car with Eb, who spent the entire time yammering about zombies, scientists, something he called a Tyrant, and a whole range of nonsensical things. No matter what Oliver said, he couldn't seem to dissuade him from his opinions.

Eb finally stopped talking when they reached Drucker's. The store was empty this time, with only Mr. Drucker himself there to greet them.

"Are there any letters for me?" Oliver asked anxiously, hoping that the company was finally going to see reason.

"No, I don't think so," Mr. Drucker replied. He turned around and searched through the pile of mail. "Not yet, anyway."

"That Haney better have delivered my message…"

"Do you have a transmitter?" Eb asked.

"A what?"

"He wants a radio transmitter," Oliver explained.

"Oh! No, I don't have one of them. I can order you one, though."

"You mean you _don't_ have a transmitter?" Mr. Haney's familiar voice called from the door.

"Oh boy," Oliver muttered.

Eb turned around. "Do you have a transmitter, Mr. Haney?"

Haney walked into Drucker's Store, smiling innocently. "Do I?" He patted his pockets. "Let me see, now…no, I don't think I—oh, now what's this?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal box. "Well, what do you know? It just so happens I have one of these left!"

"Haney!" Mr. Drucker cried. "Don't go selling your cheap transmitters in my store!"

"Cheap?" Haney flinched as though wounded. "I'll have you know that this is a Harvey Quintrap original!"

"A what?" Oliver asked, taking a closer look at the box. On the side, it said _Radio Transmitter by Harvey Quintrap._ "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He'd have bet money that Quintrap was either a relative of Haney's, or an entirely fictional person.

"How much is it?" Eb asked.

"$20."

"Mr. Douglas, could you buy me the transmitter?"

"I'm not paying $20 for that piece of junk!"

"Junk?" Haney clutched the transmitter to his heart. "Have you no respect for the Quintrap name?"

"No, not really."

Mr. Drucker cut in, "Eb, I can order you one for cheaper than that."

"It might come too late!" Eb looked down at the floor. "If I can't contact someone to help us fight Umbrella, this whole valley might be doomed."

"You're exaggerating quite a bit," Oliver began, but Mr. Haney stepped forward with a happy twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, well since it's for a good cause, I can give you a discount and let you have the genu_ine_ Harvey Quintrap radio transmitter for only $15."

"What good cause?" Oliver asked. "I thought you were working for Umbrella."

"You mean he's a traitor?" Eb asked. "How could you do it, Mr. Haney?"

He once again adopted that wounded expression. "A traitor? Oh, you've cut me to the quick. I am what we in the spy business call a double agent." He chuckled. "Fear not, in this case, the Umbrella Corporation is the spy_ee_."

"Golly!" Eb cried, staring at Haney with wide eyes. "Do they trust you?"

"Course they do! I've been the model employee…I even delivered Mr. Douglas's letter, against my own better judgment."

"How's that helping them?" Oliver demanded.

"It's not that it's helping them, but that it's hurting you," he said sheepishly. "I think they took you quite seriously."

"Good. It's about time someone around here started acting rationally."

"Mr. Douglas?" Eb asked. "Since he's on our side, will you buy the $15 transmitter?"

"No!"

"You can rent it for $10," Haney suggested hopefully.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "How about I give you $5, and if it actually works, I'll give you the rest."

"Deal!" He held out his hand.

He gave him the money, and then Haney and Eb stepped outside the store to use the transmitter. Oliver was surprised he had given in so easily—although he suspected that he might have just bought a useless transmitter for $5.

"Will the mail be here soon?" he asked, remembering his other reason for coming into town.

"Not until later this afternoon," Mr. Drucker said.

He sighed. "And I was hoping to get my reply today."

"Did you send another letter to Umbrella, Mr. Douglas?"

"Yeah." He had just begun to explain the newest letter, and how he had felt it was important enough to deliver it personally, when the phone rang.

"Just a minute." Mr. Drucker answered it. "Hello? Yes? Okay, hang on." He lowered the phone. "It's for you; it's your wife."

Quite surprised, Oliver took the phone. "Hello, Lisa? Is something wrong?" Thanks to the Hooterville Telephone Company, their phone was on top of a pole outside the house. She rarely climbed up even to answer the phone, so to have her call him like this was especially odd.

"No, dahling," Lisa responded.

"Oh, good. I was afraid something had happened."

"Dahling, did you send Umbrella a 'Dear Chowderheads' letter?"

"Err, yes, I suppose I did." They _were_ being chowderheads about the whole thing; there were a lot worse things he could have called them. "Why?"

"Vell, there is a man here who vants to talk to you about it."

"A man from Umbrella?" Oliver was acutely aware of Mr. Drucker listening, and he could only hope that the other two wouldn't come back in. "Is he still there?"

"Yes; ven he said he vanted to talk to you, I told him that you were at Drucker's, but that you'd be back any minute. He vasn't too happy about that, so I offered him some hotscakes."

"Oh no!" He had a feeling that his letter had put him on bad terms with the corporation; negotiations weren't going to go well at all if their representative thought he had tried to poison him.

"He ate three hotscakes, and then he told me that you had better get back soon, so I—"

"Wait a minute," Oliver interrupted. "He _ate_ them? And he's still alive?"

"Oliver!"

"Just kidding," he said nervously. The man could eat Lisa's hotcakes? For a moment he wondered if there was some truth to Eb's wild stories after all, but then he came to his senses. The hotcakes weren't always _completely_ inedible. She probably had made a new batch.

"Oh! And ven he saw my coffee, he offered me a job!"

"He _what_?"

"He said that I should come and work as a scientist!"

"But you don't know anything about science!"

"He said that if I can cook like this all the time, I could help make something even better than the T-virus. Oliver, vat does that mean?"

"I'm sure I don't know," he replied, trying to remember if that had been included in Eb's ramblings.

"Oh!" she cried suddenly. "Oliver, vould you like to talk to him?"

"Oh, no," he said, imagining her explaining the telephone situation to the poor man. "I'll be back soon; there's no need for him to climb the pole."

"He's already here. He vooshed."

"He…what?"

"Vooshed. That's ven you run really fast, and it's almost like you aren't there at all."

He tried to visualize what she was describing, but he couldn't come up with anything that was actually possible. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Vell, Vesker vooshes."

Oliver frowned at the phone, wondering if he was supposed to understand a word of that. "What's a Vesker? That sounds like something Mr. Haney would sell."

"So, you're Oliver Douglas," a new voice cut in.

"I am," he said uncertainly. "Err, who's this?"

"This is Albert Wesker."

"Oh!" he cried, understanding at last. He laughed. "Sorry about that; see, with my wife's accent, I didn't understand your name when she said it…" There was no sign of laughter on the other end, and he gave up. "What can I do for you?"

"You seem determined to meddle until you become a real nuisance for Umbrella."

"I'm not meddling!" Oliver protested.

"In your latest letter, you threatened us. I assure you that attempting to follow up on those threats would be very…unwise."

Oliver glared at the phone. After all Umbrella had done, this man had the _nerve_ to say something like that? "Now listen, you mallet-head!" he snapped. "I—"

"Oliver?"

"Lisa?" He frowned at the phone.

"Oliver, vat does it mean when someone's eyes glow red?"

"Err… People's eyes don't glow…"

"Douglas."

"Wesker?"

"I would like to have a talk with you in person. Maybe then you'll be convinced to mind your own business."

"I'm looking forward to talking to you in person, too," Oliver said. "In fact, I think you'll be surprised at the result. As I said in my letter, I am an attorney, and if you don't watch your step, I'll sue you!"

"Vell," Lisa said indignantly, "that's a fine thing to say to your wife!"

He gave the phone a frustrated look. "I wasn't talking to you!"

"Oliver, I can hear you shouting…and I don't think it's a good idea to shout at him!"

"Whose side are you on?" he demanded.

"I'm on my own side," Wesker replied. "Now, Mr. Douglas…are you going to come back here to talk about this, or am I going to have to come and get you?"

"Don't worry about me; I'm coming to deal with you!" Oliver snapped. "And before I forget, are you _crazy_, asking my wife to come work as a scientist?"

Wesker laughed then, a low laugh that made Oliver glad he hadn't been doing it earlier. "Oh, I'm sorry that you thought it was a request."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oliver?" Lisa had the phone again. "Are you going to come back soon? I'm tired of standing up here on the pole!"

"Oh, for the love of Pete—give Wesker back the phone! Give him back the phone!" Oliver suddenly realized that Eb and Mr. Haney had come into the store during the conversation, and that they and Mr. Drucker were all listening intently. He growled in annoyance and resisted the urge to hit the phone against something.

"Oliver, you know how you keep claiming that they're a normal pharmaceutical company? Vell…"

"It's pharmacintical!" he shouted, before he had a chance to consider what he was saying.

"The word is pharmaceutical," Wesker said. "Now, I _assume_ you're going to come here soon so that we can discuss things?"

"You're darn right I am!" Oliver yelled, hanging up the phone before they could start passing it back and forth again. He turned and saw the other three still watching. "Don't just stand there staring!"

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Drucker finally asked.

"No!"

"Are you going to pay me for the transmitter?" Mr. Haney asked.

"But it didn't work!" Eb protested. "Mr. Douglas, we have to find a transmitter!"

"We'll find one later; now let's go!"

They made it from Drucker's Store to the farmhouse in record time, and Eb didn't say one word about zombies. He didn't get a chance to, riding with Oliver. Muttering the entire time about chowderheaded companies, mallet-headed representatives, glowing eyes, and people who couldn't use a telephone properly, Oliver was in quite a rage by the time he parked in front of the house.

He got out of the car, ran to the front door, tried to open it, and had the doorknob come off in his hand. "Oh, for crying out loud… Lisa? Lisa, open the door!"

Lisa opened the door and commented, "Boy are you grouchy today."

"I'm not grouchy," he snapped, striding past her and into the house.

"Then vhy did you hang up on me?"

"I didn't hang up on you; I hung up on Wesker."

"Greetings, Mr. Douglas," the man in question said, getting up from where he had been sitting on the couch. "I hope you've come to your senses."

"I was just going to say the same thing to you," Oliver responded coolly, taking a look at him. He was tall and dressed in all black, with slicked-back blond hair and sunglasses. Oliver realized with some dismay that he was going to have to deal with yet another veritable nut.

"Umbrella is not going to give in to your demands."

"Demands?" Oliver clenched his fists. "This is a farming community! You have no right to come in here, uproot people, shut down the train, cause a mass panic, or any of the other things you been doing!"

Wesker almost smiled. "You are in no position to tell me what I can and can't do."

"I am an attorney!"

"I'll tell you one more time—following through on those threats of yours will end very badly."

"You don't frighten me," Oliver assured him.

Lisa glanced between them anxiously. "Vould you like some hotscakes?"

"No!" Oliver said, wondering how he was ever going to make any progress here.

She looked at Wesker. "Vat about you?"

"Lisa, his company is going to destroy everything this town stands for; you don't have to be nice to him!"

"You're jealous?" she asked hopefully.

"Jealous of _what_?"

"Then I can go work as a scientist?"

"No!"

"Yes, you're coming to work for us," Wesker interrupted them.

"She is not!"

"Can I be a double agent, like in Harvey Quintrap's book?" Lisa suggested. "You know, like how you vere vis S.T.A.R.S., but—"

"Lisa, _please_," Oliver hissed. "Look, err…Mr. Wesker. I'm really not trying to cause any problems. But Umbrella can't just do whatever they want. Someone's going to find something they can use—maybe it won't be me, but it'll be someone—and then there won't even be a company left."

"The fate of Umbrella does not matter to me."

"What? But I thought you worked for them!"

"Oh!" Lisa looked over. "In Harvey Quintrap's book, it said that—"

"Harvey Quintrap is a moron," Oliver interrupted, "and whoever he is, he's probably to blame for half the horror stories people have been telling me. Zombie viruses, and secret experiments, and…yellow eyes, or whatever Kimball was going on about."

Wesker took a step towards him. "Where did you hear those things?"

"Err…" How could he very well tell him that everyone in the valley seemed to be spreading rumors like that? "Look, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Say something to calm the people, or something! Half of them are working for Umbrella because they think they have no choice!"

"Hooterville has become very important to our plans. We need those workers…and we won't let anyone get in our way."

"You've got to be the most unreasonable person I've ever met!" Oliver said, feeling more irritated by the minute. "And take off those stupid sunglasses! They're annoying."

Wesker stared at him for a minute, and then he slowly reached up and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were yellow, almost gold, with pupils that were more like a cat's than a person's. They seemed to be glowing slightly.

"What the—" He took a step back in spite of himself. "Err…all right. Thank you. Now, I'm sure we can discuss this like reasonable gentlemen… The people of Hooterville have stood through a lot, and we won't let a pharmacintical—pharmatinc—pharma… We won't put up with the valley of our destruction! Err…wait…"

"Mr. Douglas." Wesker got closer to him with each word. "I think it would be best if we all go to Umbrella's headquarters and continue this conversation there."

"Why?" he demanded, clenching his fists. Of all things, was he insulting the house now?

Lisa stepped in between them. "Please don't fight!"

"Stay out of this," Wesker said, knocking her out of his path with one hand.

Whatever he said next was lost on Oliver, because _no one_ hurt his wife. In a second, he had crossed the remaining distance between them and grabbed the other man by the front of his shirt. "Now listen, you!"

And that was all he got a chance to say, because Wesker punched him in the face.

"Oliver!" Lisa cried, as he flew through the air and hit the front door. There was a _clunk_ from outside as the doorknob fell out again.

It takes a very special person to get up after someone has punched you across the room and yell at them. Oliver was that person.

"Oh, so that's how it is!" he shouted, getting to his feet. "Now I've got you on assault!"

"Oliver!" Lisa cried again, waving her hands to indicate that he should back off. "Oliver, in the old country, ve have a saying: never threaten a man whose eyes glow!"

He ignored her. "I'll have you know that the American farmer doesn't give up just because his opponent got the first punch in! When the first settlers came over to the New World, they—"

His speech was cut off as a device at Wesker's waist beeped, and he picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oliver, can ve get one of those so ve don't have to climb the pole anymore?"

"I don't know where to buy one," he responded with a shrug, still seething.

"What?" Wesker was saying. "Are you sure?"

Lisa walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, where can ve buy one of those?"

"Lisa!" Oliver hissed, pulling her out of the way before she caused any trouble.

"All right. Where?" A few seconds later, Wesker's expression was murderous. "Haney! Reconnect that call! No, I will not pay you five cents, and if you don't reconnect my call right now, you won't have to worry about being paid ever again."

The rest of the conversation was about as enlightening as the beginning had been, but Oliver took the time to compose himself and get his thoughts together.

"I have to leave," Wesker said when he was done. "Don't think—"

"Don't think I'm letting you off easy, now!"

For the first time, he looked genuinely taken aback, which Oliver took to be a good sign.

"We're finishing this conversation _today_, and when I come by your headquarters later, no one had better stop me!"

"If you haven't seen reason by then," Wesker said with a cold laugh as he opened the front door, "I'll be ready."

"Good!" Oliver nodded decisively as the other man left. Considering his usual luck, that had gone rather well.

He turned and saw Eb watching from the kitchen doorway, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"And what's the matter with you?"

"You… Did you just…?" Eb shook his head slowly and then stared upwards in amazement. "I work for the man who just challenged Albert Wesker! Yeehaw! Wait until I tell everyone else about this! At times like this, I'm proud to be your son!"

"You're _not_," Oliver reminded him.

"Boy, you don't give up in the face of anything! It's been an honor working for you, Mr. Douglas, and I'll be sure they put that in the eulogy!"

"Oh, well, thank you, but I—_eulogy?_" Oliver stared at him.

"Yessir—but don't worry; we'll never forget you!" Then he was off, running out of the house while shouting the news.

"Oh, for the love of… What's gotten into him?"

"Vell," Lisa said, looking doubtful, "Vesker seemed like a nice enough man, but he did hit you across the room."

"Oh…" Oliver waved his hands dismissively. "We both got a little carried away, that's all." There was a sudden clatter from the kitchen, and he frowned. "What's that?"

"Oh, those probably are the men from the pharmacintical company who came to collect my hotscakes."

"What…?" He ran into the kitchen and saw three men wearing white coats with the Umbrella logo on the back. Each had a box filled with hotcakes, and one of them was pouring coffee into a beaker.

"That works much better if you use a satcheler," Lisa informed the man with the coffee. "Dahling, vill you hand him the satcheler?"

"You probably mean spatula," he said, although even he wasn't entirely sure. "And no! They have no business being in our house! Out!"

The man with the coffee looked up from his work and said. "We're under orders to collect this stuff."

"I don't care! You Umbrella chowderheads had better get out of here before I add trespassing to my list of charges!"

They gathered up their boxes and beakers and hurried out the door. Oliver was nodding in satisfaction until he realized that all of them were leaving, including Lisa.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She turned around and frowned. "Vell, you vanted everyone from Umbrella gone, and I'm a scientist now."

"You are not!"

"Do you vant to be a scientist too?"

"No!"

Lisa beamed. "Do you vant to kiss me?"

"Well, I don't know." Oliver put his arms around her. "Is it all right for you to be kissing someone who's making so much trouble for your corporation?"

"Oh, it's all right, because I'm a double agent."

"That works for me."

xXx

When Oliver walked into Drucker's Store, he was annoyed to see that it was crowded. He was only there because Lisa asked him to pick up a can of coffee; it was already 2:00, and he was anxious to get to Umbrella's headquarters.

"Hello, Mr. Douglas!" Mr. Drucker called from behind the counter.

Everyone else turned to stare at him. Mr. Ziffel and Newt Kiley turned away from the current game of checkers, Mr. Haney looked up from where he had been standing in the corner, Mr. Kimball dropped the grains of salt he had been trying to count, and even Arnold squealed from his chair.

"Mr. Douglas, you sure are a brave person," Newt said solemnly.

"The farming community is standing behind you," Mr. Ziffel added.

"Uh…thank you…" Oliver wasn't quite sure what was going on, so he just walked up to the counter. "I need one can of coffee."

"Sure thing, Mr. Douglas."

As Oliver paid him, Mr. Haney ran over.

"Sam, would you stoop so low as to charge this poor man for his last cup of coffee on this Earth?"

"Haney, stop that!" Mr. Drucker said. "Mr. Douglas ain't gonna die."

"Aye, don't you worry," Mr. Ziffel said. "You and Mrs. Douglas are welcome to hide out with us."

"Hide out?" He stared at all of them. "I have nothing to hide from."

It was Mr. Kimball's turn to run over. "Does that mean that you've cancelled the…the…" He frowned. "What is it you've cancelled again?"

"I haven't cancelled anything," he said, bewildered.

"Then you're still going through with the… I guess you'd call it a duel. No, maybe you wouldn't. To challenge someone to a duel, you have to hit him with your glove." He chuckled. "And you don't wear gloves! Unless you have a pair that I've never seen. You'll probably want some gloves for when winter comes around. Well…winter doesn't really come around…it just sorta… Huh. Well, see, first it's autumn." He stared intently into space. "Then the leaves start falling…the wind starts blowing…a snowflake falls… Well, it's never just one snowflake. Actually, according to the Department of Agriculture, it's usually—no, that was their bulletin on grasshoppers. Anyway, does that answer your question?"

"I didn't ask a question!" He grabbed the can of coffee and turned, hoping to escape quickly, but Haney was blocking his path.

"Care to buy a rocket launcher?"

"A _what?_"

"Well, you didn't like the knife and bow…" He pointed towards the door. "I got it right on the back of my truck. It's yours, free of charge! Course, there's a small handling fee, for me bringing it over here for you."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "I didn't ask you to, and I don't want it."

"Ain't you gonna take any weapons?"

"No!"

Arnold squealed and jumped off the chair, running out the door.

"What's his problem?"

"Aw, he hates good-byes," Mr. Ziffel said. "Mr. Douglas, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about!" he shouted.

"Here you go, Mr. Douglas," Mr. Drucker said, handing him a newspaper. "It's the latest edition of the World Guardian."

Oliver unfolded the newspaper and saw to his horror that he had made the front page. In fact, he had made all of the headlines of the front page, and right beneath the words "Local Farmer Takes On Umbrella," there was a large picture of him scowling at the camera. The article included all of the letters he had written, as well as a description of his confrontation with Wesker, complete with dialogue.

"How…?" he began, and then he gave up. He'd been in Hooterville long enough to know there was no point in asking how they had gotten all of that information. The other articles were just as bad, and a picture of him shouting had made it into the one called "Douglas Challenges Wesker."

Newt cleared his throat. "I especially like the part where you said we won't put up with the valley of our destruction…whatever that means…"

"Yes sir," Mr. Kimball said, "we certainly won't put up with it, whatever it is. Valley of our destruction, eh? I can't say I've heard that one very often…in fact, I've never heard it! But by now we know not to put up with anything you stand for! Or is that the other way around?"

"What he means," Mr. Drucker cut in, "is that you have our support."

"Thank you."

"I think you should take Haney's rocket launcher," Mr. Ziffel said. "It'd be a mighty comfort to the people of the valley if we could have Wesker's funeral instead of yours."

Oliver opened his mouth to comment, but Haney spoke first. "Mr. Douglas, if you won't take the rocket launcher, then I think I've got something else that'll interest you. I recently _se_cured some experimental viruses."

"Experimental _what_?"

"I thought that'd grab your attention," he said with a grin. "Now, if you'll just tell me your blood type and pay me $10 for insurance purposes, I can fix you up with something that'll give you super strength, super speed, and optional glowing eyes, just as it did for that great man, uh, Joseph Weinthrop."

"Mr. Haney, I don't—who?"

"You mean you haven't heard of Joseph Weinthrop?" he asked.

"No, I haven't. Besides, the only person around here with glowing eyes is Albert Wesker—and even that's ridiculous; _no one_ has glowing eyes!"

"Who do you think gave him the virus?" Haney demanded.

"You don't mean…"

"That's right—Joseph Weinthrop!"

"Don't you read those books you sell?" Mr. Ziffel cut in, shaking his head. "It was William Birkin!"

"Shh!" Haney shushed him, glancing around conspiratorially. "That's his codename!"

Mr. Kimball snapped his fingers. "Now I've got it! Sylvia Weinthrop! That was my old girlfriend. Well, she wasn't really my girlfriend…she was just a friend… See, my parents thought I ought to have a girlfriend, so she… Or was her name Jones?"

"Look, you're all overreacting a little bit," Oliver said, smiling. "There's not going to be a duel, or a funeral… This is just going to be a friendly discussion."

"With _Wesker_?" everyone in the store asked in unison.

He sighed. "Okay, so he's a little…err…different. But this is ridiculous; it's not like he'd actually hurt me!"

"_Wesker?_" they all asked again.

"Gentlemen, I'm surprised at you." Oliver set down his can of coffee and stared around at them. "The American farmer is the backbone of this great nation! And when things look bad, he doesn't run away. No, he puts down his pitchfork, sets aside his tractor, and then he fights! He fights for truth, and justice, and all the other things we stand for. And when he rises up, the rest of the country can gather around him! So, I ask you—if the American farmer won't stand up to Wesker, who will?"

He lifted his head dramatically in the silence that followed, until it was broken by Haney suggesting, "Someone with a rocket launcher?"

Oliver threw up his hands in exasperation, grabbed the coffee, and strode out of the store. It was a fine thing when the only farmer willing to defend the rights of the valley was the one who came from New York City.

xXx

When he arrived at the building, he saw that the new addition was about where it had been when he had last seen it. Only the pile of discarded emblems had gotten bigger, and he had to smile. The Monroe brothers' work ethic hadn't changed a bit, it seemed. Usually it was just him; he was glad they were doing it to someone else for a change.

He entered the main door and was pleased to see that the gate was open this time, leaving him free to walk into the building, but less pleased when he realized that he had no idea of how to find Wesker. As he was trying to decide how to ask without feeling like a complete fool, the shuttered window opened, and Mr. Haney looked out.

"Care to buy a map? They're only fifty cents!"

Oliver jumped back. "How did you get here before me?"

Haney grinned. "Trade secret." He held up a book with the title _Traveling Like the Merchant, as Told by Harvey Quintrap._ "$10 if you want a copy."

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself, but you'll never get ahead in business that way." He put the book away and lowered his voice. "I can still let you buy the knife or the bow. Someone else bought the rocket launcher."

"Oh, I bet. Listen, can you just tell me where I can find Wesker?"

"Well, I offered you a map already!"

"I don't want a map!" he yelled. "This is a building, and you claim to work here! You should at least be able to give me directions!"

Haney looked insulted. "If I didn't work here, would I be sitting here selling maps?"

"Knowing you, yes."

"Fair enough. Now, let me see…you want directions… I seem to be having some trouble remembering…maybe if we talked about something else for a while…"

Oliver put his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and tried to calm down. He couldn't get angry before even having the meeting, or it would be another disaster. "Mr. Haney, you'll only be wasting your time. All I want are directions, and I'm not going to buy Birkin's lab coat or whatever it is you're selling this time."

"You'll be interested in this," he said, reaching behind him.

"I highly doubt it."

There was a _whirring_ noise, and something behind him started playing music, some sort of disturbing, high-pitched melody. A pair of eyes lit up, and began flashing through various colors, and Haney grinned.

"Do you like it?"

"What _is_ it?"

"A Joseph Weinthrop original—during his stint as a famous sculptor, of course. It's a life-size statue of James Marcus!" He looked slightly sheepish. "Unfortunately, old Joe never got a good look at Marcus's eyes, so he decided to go with every color!"

"Yeah," Oliver said, rolling his eyes as the statue continued its light show, "that way he'd be sure to get it right once."

"Spoken like a true Weinthrop supporter! Have you got some of his art, Mr. Douglas?"

"No!"

"You _don't_ have any—"

"Directions! All I want are directions! And will you turn him off?"

Haney reached back and turned off the statue, commenting, "Well, I thought you'd like it, considering you don't seem to be a fan of any of the other scientists. Wait! What about the Ashfords?"

"What about them?" Oliver asked, running out of patience. "I just want directions!"

"I might be remembering them a lot quicker if Dr. Marcus wasn't back here with me…"

He gritted his teeth. "All right! How much for the statue?"

Haney grinned. "Well, since you're one of my best customers…$25!"

"I'm not paying $25 for that…abomination!"

"Abomination? To the untrained eye, perhaps, but it was Weinthrop's brother who sculpted under the alias of Alan Abomination."

Oliver couldn't help but privately hope that Haney had been punched across the room a few times during his employment with Umbrella.

"I'll give you $10 for Marcus if you'll tell me the directions," he finally said. "If not, I'm going to personally see to it that you're fired."

"I'll have the statue shipped to your house," Haney said, taking the money. "Now, if you start here, you go straight until you reach the stairs, but don't take them. Go left, then take the first right, and eventually you'll find an elevator. Once in the elevator, go to the fourth floor, and then take a right. Go straight until you pass two hallways, and then take a left down the first staircase. Are you sure you wouldn't like a fifty cent map?"

"I'm sure," Oliver said, patting his pockets in the hopes of finding something to write with. Err…do you happen to have a piece of paper?"

"I've got an Umbrella notepad." He held up a pad of paper with the company's logo in the corner. "They're 25 cents. If you buy it with the pen, it'll only be a dollar."

"I'll take the map," he growled.

After narrowly escaping an insurance policy for the statue, Oliver strode into Umbrella's headquarters with his map in hand. It didn't look quite as complicated as Haney's directions had implied, and he suspected he had been tricked. Nevertheless, he was certain that things would _have_ to get better from here.

There wasn't much to see, since it was still under construction. Looking around at the generally bare walls and nondescript furniture, he remembered that this was the part that had originally been a warehouse. Once he was past the main area, things changed slightly—turning into what he felt was needless ornamentation. He climbed the stairs, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about how he left the city to get away from this sort of thing.

He passed Ralph, who was inexplicably walking through the second floor with a two-by-four board under her arm.

"What are you…?" he began, before deciding it wasn't worth it.

She smiled brightly. "Off to see Albert?"

"_You're_ on a first-name basis with him?"

"No, but I'm trying to make Hankie jealous."

"Yeah, I can see that working real well." Rolling his eyes, Oliver continued past her down the hall. He had climbed another set of stairs and was just about to follow his map down a side hall, when a voice began whispering to him.

"Psst! Mr. Douglas!"

He turned, and the first thing he saw was the statue of a giant dog, which startled him for a moment. Then he realized that the whisperer was actually Alf, hiding behind the statue.

"What are you doing?" he asked, crouching down by him.

"Be careful with that statue; the eyes come out!"

He had been about to lean on it, and he moved away quickly. "Why?"

"It's the only way to get into the bathrooms. Anyway, I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen her?"

"Err…yes… I just saw her on the second floor."

"Thanks." Alf got up and started walking in the direction Oliver had come from. "I'm trying to keep her from getting into too much trouble. Why does she have to go after all the nuts?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Oliver said. "Uh, good luck, then!"

He gave the dog statue one final look, and then he shook his head and continued following the map. It was a short time later when he finally found the correct door. He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he got a chance to.

"You had to use a map to find me?" Wesker asked.

"Err…" Oliver hastily folded up the map and shoved it in his pocket. He stepped into the office and heard the door lock behind him—although with Ralph on the prowl, he didn't really find that too alarming. He also noticed a panel of security monitors that seemed to show every area of the building, including one currently focused on Mr. Haney as he tried to sell souvenirs to some of the scientists.

"Something's going to have to be done about him."

"Yes, I've felt that way nearly every day since I came to Hooterville," Oliver said, glad they were starting by agreeing on something this time. "Now, I'll make this brief. I've told you my complaints and proposed some solutions. I'd suggest you compromise with me. I am an attorney—"

"Yes, I know," Wesker said. He walked over to the desk that sat in the room and picked up Oliver's letter. "I also know all about the American farmer, so you don't need to tell me that one, either."

In light of being insulted, Oliver decided that he didn't have to be polite anymore, either. "Look, I'm giving you a chance! If you don't start cooperating, I _will_ bring down the law on you, and I'll personally be the prosecuting attorney!"

Before he had time to do more than blink, Wesker had crossed the room and pinned him to the wall by his throat. "Threatening me is a very unwise thing to do."

"Put me down!" Oliver forced out, as rage and fear battled inside of him. Rage was winning. "Put me down, you maniac!"

Wesker dropped him. "You already seem to know far too much about what we're doing here."

"I only know what people have been telling me!" He straightened up and tried to look composed. "But believe me, when I get out of here—"

"Who said you're getting out of here?"

"Look…" He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I think we're both getting a little too angry here. Think this through logically. You're not going to hurt me. You wouldn't dare!"

It turned out that Wesker _would_ dare, and the last thing Oliver thought before blacking out was that he might have miscalculated slightly.

xXx

When Oliver opened his eyes, the first thing he did was scream, because his face hurt. The second thing he did was look around in bewilderment and wonder why he was in his pajamas and in his bedroom. Had Wesker just shipped him off home?

He jumped out of bed and hurried into the living room, bumping into Lisa on his way. "Lisa!"

"Dahling, I heard you yell. Vat is the matter?"

"I just…" He wasn't sure how to explain. "How long was I out for?"

She blinked. "Not much longer than usual. Vould you like some hotscakes?"

"Not much longer than…" The second part registered, and he jumped back in alarm. "No, I'm not eating them! Umbrella was going to use them as weapons!"

"Oliver, are you feeling all right?"

"I'm feeling fine," he said, despite the fact that both his face and throat hurt. "Where's Eb?"

"He's in the kitchen, but…"

Oliver ran into the kitchen, barely aware of Lisa running after him. He wasn't sure why he was still alive, but that meeting had convinced him that something was definitely wrong. To his surprise, Eb was sitting at the kitchen table, poking at his hotcakes. They seemed to be stuck to the plate.

"Eb, what are you doing? Have you contacted anyone yet?"

"Huh?" The hired hand looked up. "Contacted anyone? Like who?"

"The…the people! Oh…" He shook his head in frustration, because he couldn't remember the letters. "The people you wanted to contact to help fight Umbrella!"

"Fight who?"

Oliver stared at him. "Umbrella! The evil corporation that moved in!"

"Oliver…" Lisa put her hand on his shoulder. "You didn't hit your head on anything, did you?"

"No, I—well, I suppose he hit me pretty hard…"

"Who hit you?" she cried.

"Wesker!"

"Vat is a Vesker?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not a thing; he's a man! With…with yellow eyes! And sunglasses! And super speed!"

They both stared at him. Eb's mouth was hanging open slightly, and Lisa just looked concerned.

Oliver threw his hands up. "Oh, wonderful—it's not enough for him just to kill me; he's got to make me think I'm crazy, first!" He ran towards the kitchen door.

"Dahling, where are you going?"

"To find Mr. Ziffel! Maybe his rebel forces can help me!"

"I just saw Mr. Ziffel," Eb said. "He was getting his seed from Mr. Drucker so that he could start planting his crops."

"What? Does nobody care about the zombies?"

"Vat are zombies?" Lisa asked.

"Mr. Douglas, are you sure you haven't been having some sort of wild dream?"

"A…a dream?" Oliver blinked. "No, it couldn't have been!"

"Howdy doody!" Ralph Monroe called from outside. She and her brother were walking through with their tools.

Oliver ran into the yard after her. "Oh, so you've returned, have you? Got tired of your new employers? Thought you'd come back and give this sorehead a chance?"

They exchanged glances, and Ralph asked, "Are you stoned?"

"No!"

"Are you trying to give us a hint?" Alf asked. "Do you want us to find a new employer?"

"No—look, weren't you just working for the Umbrella Corporation?"

"The who?" they asked in unison.

"Never mind…"

"Oliver, come inside!" Lisa called.

He re-entered the house, shaking his head. "Could it really have all been a dream?" He sat down at the table, and then he jumped up again at the sound of a familiar car horn outside. "Mr. Haney! Just the man I wanted to see!"

Oliver ran through the living room and flung open the door. Mr. Haney was there, just getting out of his truck and climbing up the steps.

"Good morning, Mr. Douglas."

"Good morning, now where is it?"

"Err…on the back of my truck."

"Good, good…now bring it here."

Haney blinked. "But you haven't even seen it yet."

"Seen what?"

"The antique bathtub I brought to show you."

"What? Where's my statue?"

"Your what?"

Oliver glared at him. "My statue of James Marcus!"

Haney looked utterly lost. "Who's he?"

"I don't know; look him up in one of Harvey Quintrap's books!"

"Who?"

He gave up and went back into the house, slamming the door in Haney's face. This was impossible. It couldn't have been a dream.

"Dahling, calm down," Lisa said, as he strode towards the kitchen. "You just had a bad dream."

"If it was just a dream, then why does my face hurt?" he demanded.

The kitchen door flew open and hit him in the face. Yelling in pain, Oliver glared at Eb, who had bounded into the living room.

"I got the tractor all ready for you, Mr. Douglas!"

"You see, Oliver? You hurt yourself lots of times."

"Yes, but…" He sighed, feeling drained. The memories of what had happened were so vivid, but they were already starting to feel unreal. Maybe the strain of dealing with people like Eb, Haney, and Kimball on a daily basis had created some bizarre nightmare. "Could it really have been a dream?" he whispered.

"Dahling…" Lisa kissed him, although he just stood there miserably and accepted it. "Go put on your clothes and do some farming. You'll feel better."

He doubted it, but he went into the bedroom to get his clothes—Alf and Ralph were busy hammering away, and they waved happily when he entered—and then he went into the bathroom to get changed. By the time he was buttoning his suit jacket, he had to admit that he did feel better already.

He went outside and sent Eb to get the plow while he took the tractor into the fields. The old Hoyt-Clagwell had all of its wheels attached, and although it clanked and belched smoke when he started it up, it consented to being driven into the fields.

Oliver surveyed the empty fields and took a deep breath. He had been so worried about the planting season, he was sure that had contributed to the nightmare. An evil corporation…the idea was laughable, now that he thought about it.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. "Oh, Eb—" He blinked. The person standing there was a brown-haired woman dressed in red, and not looking like a farmer at all. "You're not Eb."

"No, I'm not. My name's Claire Redfield." She held out her hand.

He shook it. "Douglas, Oliver Wendell Douglas."

"I was wondering if you could give me directions. I'm looking for Drucker's Store."

"Oh, sure." As he told her how to get there, he couldn't help but wonder how she had gotten to Hooterville in the first place. Had she dropped out of a helicopter or something, sneaking into the valley? He cut off that thought before it could fully form. Thinking like that was what gave him ridiculous nightmares.

"Thank you," she said, once he had finished. "I heard rumors of strange things happening around here, and I've been told that that's where I should go to find out information."

"Yes, Mr. Drucker usually knows what's going on around town."

"Thank you again."

As he watched the girl go, Oliver almost called after her. When she said _strange things_… But no, enough people already had heard his ramblings without him telling a random visitor about the Umbrella Corporation and Albert Wesker. After all, it had just been a dream.

Smiling, Oliver resumed waiting for Eb.


End file.
